Secrets Locked
by The Hermione Granger Fan Club
Summary: Twelve-year-old Cecilia writes her first diary entry.


Cecilia didn't mind mythology herself. All the kids in her class had groaned and whined when they had begun to learn various mythology in their English class, but Cecilia had rather enjoyed it. She could never mention it to her parents; they were so taken with Christianity they would be alarmed and resentful if she expressed interest in even the most ancient and interesting of faiths.  
  
Her sisters couldn't care less about myths and legends. Lux was entirely too old for such fanciful things, Mary too mature, Therese too factual and Bonnie too set in her ways.  
  
Cecilia got OK grades in English, and it had been suggested numerous times that she ought to turn her hand to writing stories. But all Cecilia could make herself record was poetry and autobiography, which never left her blonde head but was doomed to stay bogged down forever in luxurious, independent, shining thought.  
  
She only spoke the truth, she reminded herself wryly, creeping upstairs from the kitchen after the Lisbon women had gone into town together to shop. Mary was prancing around the kitchen, holding a blouse from Penney's against her chest and demanding attention, which Lux readily gave to her. Lux and Mary got on quite well, but you couldn't ask them to share a room with each other. They were both too boisterous. Bonnie and Therese were the same, but different- both too accommodating for each other. So to have Therese and Lux in one bedroom, with Bonnie and Mary in the other, had been a wise decision on the part of the girls.  
  
"Cecilia?" called her mother's throaty, accented voice from downstairs. Cecilia froze. She couldn't wait to dive into her room and change into her wedding dress. Mary, Lux and even Therese had ganged up on her, threatening not to walk with her if she went into town wearing the dress. Lux had offered jeans, which Cecilia DESPISED, and Bonnie had blithely indicated an old dress.  
  
She would have liked a sarong, Cecilia thought mildly, like women in India wore, except those were altogether much too bright. She'd bought a book on India home from the library at school, and thought the clothes the women wore were much prettier than the brazenly patterned things girls wore where she lived.  
  
Not that Cecilia much cared about prettiness. Prettiness was something that faded. Presence was what Cecilia would have liked. You could be a million years old and have presence.  
  
But she had none. How could she? She was Cecilia, short, slouched and mulish, with sunset eyes and a penchant for wearing an old wedding dress.  
  
The wedding dress had presence. But she had none.  
  
"Yeah?" replied Cecilia.  
  
"Would you- would you like some macaroni and cheese for lunch, like Luxie?"  
  
Yeuch. Cecilia didn't like the look of her mom's macaroni and cheese. It was nearly as vile as creamed corn, the scourge of all five Lisbon sisters.  
  
"Yes," said Cecilia, and fled up to her room.  
  
She extracted the trophy of her excursion out with her mother and sisters- a green rice paper journal, bought from a curiosity shop that also stocked incense and Celtic records. Her mother would never give her the money on the spot to get any records, so the proprietor had slipped her the address of a mail order house which could ship them to her. This would give her the entire duration of the mailing time to cajole her dad or mom into forking out the dough.  
  
Reverently, she opened the cover, bending it back to expose a little bit more of page. She rummaged across her battered desk to procure a pencil, and began to write.  
  
'Saturday afternoon. We've done myths in English and I often wonder what we would be if we were in them...'  
  
Cecilia became so absorbed in writing that she did not notice her error until it was too late.  
  
Freezing, she scanned the full page and a half she'd written already.  
  
God, this wouldn't do! She couldn't stand the thought of her secrets, her most intimate opinions being mauled in the hands of her family, who would break the lock and read them as soon as Mrs Lisbon remembered what she'd allowed four dollars for.  
  
There would be trouble. And since when did Ceel create trouble?  
  
She smirked. You could not accuse her of wanting to worry her family. And secrets... should after all stay secrets.  
  
Minutes passed. Then-  
  
'Saturday afternoon. Went shopping and came home. We are having macaroni and cheese for lunch. Tomorrow's Sunday, have to go to church. I wish I could sleep in. I should do my homework. It's Math and I don't want to. I'm taking a bath now. Baths are fun. I wish Bonnie wasn't listening to SONGS OF RAPTURE on the record player downstairs. I thought that crap was reserved for Sundays? Ugh. Maybe the faucet will drown it out...? Goodbye.'  
  
She surveyed the utterly predictable, boring prose, and her features were marred once again with an emotion- only this time, it was a kind of triumph.  
  
It was perfect.  
  
Cecilia wadded up her first attempt and put it into her waste paper basket, padding off to the bathroom for one of her famous marathon baths.  
  
Later on, as the family crowded around the television watching a Walt Disney special, Therese said kindly, "What are you doing, Ceel?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Is that a diary?" asked Mary mischievously.  
  
"Yes it is."  
  
"Writing secrets?" asked Lux boredly, and then the two of them shared a private grin. Or rather, Lux grinned and Cecilia smiled secretly.  
  
"Too many secrets can be a burden, Cecilia," said Mr Lisbon, giving his youngest daughter a worried look.  
  
She only smiled.  
  
Confined to the wicker bin was the original first page of Cecilia Lisbon's diary. A silent testament to each Lisbon sister, introducing her perfectly through Cecilia's staid handwriting, likening her to a creature of old- Lux and Mary, sirens. Therese, an oracle and Bonnie, a priestess, with the overbearing mother as the jealous Hera and the benevolent yet inept father as Zeus, Ruler of All.  
  
And Cecilia, a sorceress, Circe.  
  
Cecilia, the most powerful of all.  
  
* * *  
  
DISCLAIMER: 'The Virgin Suicides' and all characters thereof are the property of Jeffrey Eugenides and, um... Paramount Pictures? I don't know! Walt Disney belongs to himself.  
  
NOTE: Yes, I know I'm not a patch on Mr Eugenides, who is a genius who ought to be celebrated worldwide for his talents. I just happen to love 'The Virgin Suicides', which is my favourite book and film. :) 


End file.
